It Was Impossible, Waiting For the Inevitable
by March
Summary: She waited for him because something inside her knew it had to happen eventually. Complete
1. Chapter 1

The courtroom was silent as the defendant stood. The jury had just walked back in. Without so much as a glance in the direction of the small group gathered around the lawyers, they placed the papers in the judge's hand.

The judge cleared his throat and put his glasses back on. He had a habit of taking off his glasses, wiping them on his long robe, and then putting them back on. Repeatedly. This irritated both the defense and the prosecution, but both of them wanted to win the case. They weren't going to say a word.

"In the trial against Jackson Rippner, in regards to terrorising passengers on an airplane, the jury finds the defendant not guilty. In regards to the attempted murder of Lisa and Joe Reisert, the jury finds the defendant not guilty."

Lisa was ushered out of the courtroom as fast as possible. Even though the man had just gotten off murder charges, no one was taking any chances. She sped walked down the hall and avoided the crowd that had gathered outside of the courthouse.

Well, they were always going to lose that one. She'd hired a lawyer who'd turned out to be incompetent, pretty much losing the case for them. She'd replaced him a little too late. And, besides, it wasn't as if the witness list was that extensive anyway. There had been the kindly old woman who'd obsessed over Dr. Phil-- she'd had no idea foul play was going on. The other passengers in general had shaken their heads; who knew? The only passenger they'd found who'd even had the slightest idea turned out to be an eight year old girl, and who was going to believe an eight year old who was on her first flight and probably had an overactive imagination, anyway? The flight attendants were embarrassed to discover that the "incident" had been overlooked. The airport in general had tried to stay out of it and cover up their embarrassment over the whole ordeal. In the end, the witness list was compiled of Lisa, her father, and the eight year old. And since Lisa had stabbed Jackson in the throat with a pen and her father had shot him just shy of every vital point in his body, it certainly didn't look good for any of them.

She slid into the car and turned the radio on. It was NPR. She hated it when her father borrowed her car. He always changed the station to the news. "... and the bizarre case of the red eye terrorist has been solved. Jackson Rippner was declared not guilty--"

Lisa turned the radio off. But the one thing she hated more than the news was silence. She began to think back to what had gone on since the case had begun a year or so ago. Her father forced her to carry pepper spray everywhere she went, and Lisa didn't need the encouragement. It was the only way she could walk from one end of a parking lot to the other without stopping to turn around and go home.

Since the incident, Cynthia had actually become a competent assistant hotel manager. She'd worked much harder at her job and had become pretty good at what she did. Enough so that hotel guests weren't exasperated every time it was her and not Lisa behind the desk. Currently, Lisa was on her way to get some coffee with Cynthia so they could worry about what to do next together.

God, the silence was overbearing. (She tried not to listen to a certain deep sing-song voice: "Cynnnnthiaaa..." repeat over and over in her head as she thought of how supportive her friend had been during the past year.)

She tried to ignore the goosebumps that crawled over her arms. Was that person... in the silver car behind her... _tailgating_ her? Lisa took a few deep breaths, tried to think of what kind of Dr. Phil advice her father would quote at her at times like these, and swallowed. She resisted the urge to slam on the breaks. Why did people advise you to do those things in case someone was following you closely? It seemed like an invitation to get rear ended.

Lisa stopped at a stop light and focused on breathing. Relaxation. It was definitely a young man in the car, wearing a suit. Oh, God. She started to inch forward as soon as the light on the left turned yellow. She grabbed her purse instinctively as she took off. Lisa managed to slip the purse between her feet as she accelerated. Best to lose this guy as soon as possible.

She only breathed again when he turned the corner a few blocks down the road. It couldn't have been... no. It was just an asshole, she repeated over and over. He wouldn't be _that_ stupid, surely.

She couldn't have been happier upon seeing the glowing Starbucks sign. Cynthia was in there and they'd have something to drink and begin the process of recuperating.

As she got out of the car, something definitely didn't feel right. A lamppost ahead of her turned off automatically as she walked underneath it. _Aren't lampposts supposed to give you light so you can see your way?_ Lisa thought, irritably. Wait. Was she... being followed? Every shadow seemed to reveal a man standing behind her. She gripped her purse tighter. She'd always jumped at shadows, but knowing that Jackson was a free man tonight didn't make things any easier.

When she opened the door of the Starbucks (at long last) she gasped.

"Lisa!" Cynthia said, shaking her head. "I swear to God, you'll jump at anything. And seriously? I gotta say, you don't really need caffeine tonight."

Lisa was slightly amazed at her own inability to breathe. She'd been so sure... "Yeah. I don't know. Long day."

"I would imagine. I just heard everything on the news. They interviewed him, you know." Cynthia showed Lisa where she'd been sitting and both women took their seats. Cynthia was nursing a café mocha and _The Miami Herald_ was spread out in front of her. She folded the paper and tossed it aside carelessly. "Much deeper voice than I'd expected."

"Cynthia, does it look like I want to talk about it?" Lisa asked, exasperated.

"No," her friend said with a shrug.

"That's what I thought."

"What're you having?" Cynthia said with a grin. "No, let me guess. A tall latté with whipped cream."

"That is so not impressive," Lisa said, laughing. "I always order that." (She tried to ignore the voice again-- "Seabreeze," he'd guessed triumphantly. And then, oh, God... when he'd called her bluff...) She waited at the counter for her coffee, eyeing the customers. This was pretty normal. She had to examine everyone she saw around her at all times. Most of the customers were studying or talking quietly with friends. They were all ignoring her. Thank God.

"Tall latté with extra whipped cream, for a cutie like you," the employee said with a wink.

Lisa fought the urge to tell him to shut the hell up.

"Lisa," Cynthia said as Lisa found her seat again, "you know what I've been thinking?"

"What?"

"We need to go somewhere together. Mark Andrews is pretty good at what he does and can overlook the hotel for awhile. We can drive out to the beach and just relax for a few days. You need some rest and some reassurance."

Lisa nodded, sipping her coffee. "I agree. But I do feel kind of bad--"

"Don't. Mark's the one who offered. We'll take off next week."

For some reason, even as Cynthia nattered on and on about ornery customers and bad room service and things of that nature, Lisa began to finally feel herself unwind.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to all who have been reviewing, it's much appreciated. I woke up this morning , checked my email, and it was like Christmas.

Chapter Two

"Mrs. Stewartson, I don't know how to explain this to you. You didn't make a hotel reservation, so I couldn't put you in room 2004. I can put you in room 3006. That faces the beach, too, and it's only one floor up."

"But it's our favorite room!"

Lisa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The Stewartsons were both good customers and she liked them a lot, but they never booked their favorite room in advance. And then promptly wondered why the room was never available when they got there. No matter how many times Cynthia, Mark, or Lisa had explained this fundamental fact to them, the concept still seemed a bit beyond comprehension.

It didn't help that Cynthia was making faces behind her. Goofy ones. And whispering things that were barely audible to Mark. Lisa could hear everything. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Unfortunately, it made her stomach hurt.

"Ms. Reisert, what is the matter?" Mrs. Stewartson asked, looking scandalized.

The whole thing was so ridiculous Lisa had to let out a chuckle. In fact, she was starting to laugh so hard by the time Cynthia got around to mimicking Mrs. Stewartson that her sides hurt. Tears were practically streaming from her eyes, but this time it was the good kind.

"I'll take the third floor room," Mr. Stewartson interjected hastily, looking as if he was absolutely convinced he was surrounded by a bunch of nutcases.

Lisa apologized when the wave of giggles passed and set the arrangements up with them. The couple looked perplexed as they headed into the elevator to go upstairs.

"That was _entirely_ unprofessional," Lisa said, trying to scold Cynthia. But it didn't work. It never worked. The two of them just got along too well. And it didn't help her case that she was still laughing so hard.

"I couldn't help it. I mean, what were they expecting? And it _always_ happens to them. No one else." Cynthia grabbed her jacket and slipped it on.

Lisa put her own on and grabbed her purse. She opened it compulsively-- all was in order. Pepper spray stuck firmly under her planner. Keys on top of everything. Ready to go. She grabbed her keys and stuck the ring around her finger. There was no way she'd fumble around by her car trying to find her keys tonight.

Cynthia chattered happily as they got ready to leave for the night. Lisa listened absently until her friend said, "Hey, you sure you're going to be okay? Want me to walk you to your car and make sure you get there?"

"Is there any reason to believe I won't get there?" she asked, managing a smile.

"No, I just want you to feel better."

Lisa nodded. Although she hated Cynthia and her father's constant nagging, it was nice to know she had moral support. "Thanks, but no thanks. Eventually I'm going to have to do this on my own, anyway."

Once out in the parking lot, Cynthia went the opposite way to her ugly brown Toyota. Lisa began the long trek out to her own car. Sure enough, as soon as she started walking, her stomach decided to do the hokey-pokey and her heart pounded out the rhythm. _You're fine_, she told herself firmly, shaking her head hard. _You're in a public place. Scream and people will hear you_. That was the only thing that kept her going.

Lisa began shuffling through papers on her way to the car. It was dark enough that she couldn't see anything written on the pages, but it kept her mind from playing tricks on her. When she finally reached the car, she saw something that made everything inside of her scream.

"Shut up," said the man in the suit, leaned up against the driver's side of her car, blue eyes examining her. "Shut up, Leese."

Her body stopped everything it was doing. Her heart seemed to be the only thing inside of her still working, but brain and leg power seemed to desert her. Her stomach was no longer doing the hokey-pokey; it wasn't doing much of anything.

"And I'll take this," he said, taking a step towards her and snatched her purse and keys out of her numb, horrified hands. "You won't be needing it, not for a very long time."

"What do you want?" she managed weakly.

"I told you on the plane. To steal you." He smiled, lips closed. His smile didn't reach his eyes.

Her body seemed to remember she had a stomach all at once. Her brain and the rest of her body prepared her for what would come next. She vomited in a patch of cement right next to her. Her legs started to shake and she fell to the ground.

"Get up," he snapped, grabbing her hard around her elbow. "We don't have time for this."

Pain shot up and down her arm as he yanked her upwards. Her legs didn't want to follow. Her mind was telling her to make herself as heavy as possible, and she resisted.

"Leese, stop being stupid." At this, he forced her all the way up and walked her towards his own car. Although the limp she'd noticed on the first day of hearings wasn't as pronounced as it had been then, it was still there. So _that_ was his weakness. The trick would be to injure his leg again...

"I'll scream again," she threatened as he fumbled around for his keys. Go figure... she'd taken care to have her own keys ready and now Jackson couldn't find his. The irony would have made her laugh if it had been happening to someone else.

"Now, Lisa, you must know me well enough to know that's not a good idea. I can be reasonable, but you have to cooperate." He found his keys and reached over to the passenger side of the car. He snatched something in his hand and pointed it at her. "You see this, Leese? It's a gun. I wouldn't scream if I were you. Get in."

Miserably, she did as she was told. He pointed with the gun to where she sat trembling in the backseat. "Buckle up. All we need is for me to get pulled over for your stupidity." He shoved the thing in the glove compartment.

Lisa could hardly pull the strap down she was shaking so hard. _Pull yourself together_, she told herself firmly. _You're being kidnapped by a half crazy man with a limp who's now breathing heavily because you shoved a pen through his throat. _She managed to buckle herself in and watched as he slid gracefully into the seat in front of her.

"You'll notice I prepared myself this time," he said, pushing a button on his side that made all the locks go down. "I figured you'd try to escape, even in a moving car, so I invested in a car with child safety locks. And I removed any sharp objects from the backseat so you can't try any of your tricks. I think what got me last time," he said, turning the key and starting the car, "was carelessness. I underestimated you, you know. I thought you were just another dumb victim, and here you go, outsmarting me completely. Nothing I couldn't have fixed if I hadn't been paying attention."

She was vaguely aware of him talking as she began to think to herself. How was she going to get out of this? She couldn't get out of the car, not until he let her out. And Jackson was right-- he'd removed anything that would even remotely give her a chance of having the upper hand. Lisa began to panic. She had to find a way out of this. She even tried pinching herself-- this kind of thing only happened in nightmares. _No_, she thought, feeling her arm throb, _this was real. _

"Did you hear what I said?" Jackson asked, in a voice so testy Lisa knew this wasn't the first time he'd asked her that.

"What?" she responded, trying to sound brave but failing miserably.

"When were you the most afraid you've ever been?"

"I was nine," Lisa lied effortlessly. "My next door neighbor dared me to climb the tall tree in the park. Our parents were all off doing something else, I don't remember what. I climbed too high and couldn't get back down, so he ran off to tell them. He didn't come back for a long time and I thought I'd be up there forever."

Jackson lurched the car violently and Lisa gasped, holding on to the arm rest. "That's a lie," he snapped. "We both know the time you were the most afraid, and that wasn't it."

"Are you trying to kill both of us?" she said, and this time her voice came out stronger. It was the opposite of weak; it was hysteria.

"No," he said darkly.

"Then what's your point?"

"I just want to prepare you, Leese. Because the fear you've already experienced won't be anything compared to what's in store over the next few days."

"What are you talking about?" Her stomach flip-flopped. Her mouth had gone completely dry and she recognized the feeling as adrenaline.

"Remember your prime witness? Rebecca, I think her name is? Turns out that not only did she figure out what happened on the plane, but her father is the vice presidential candidate for Bob Killmore. Something interesting came up. He thinks the justice system let me go too easily. And wants it to be easier for good people like you to prosecute bad people like me. And guess who's staying at your hotel tomorrow?"

"Rebecca's father?" Lisa asked, numbly. She _did _remember the president and his election staff staying there as they campaigned in Florida, now that she thought about it. Oh, God. She didn't even remember feeling this numb, this hopeless, on the plane.

"The whole family," corrected Jackson as he stopped at a traffic light. "Won't that be fun, Leese?" He turned around to face her and smiled coldly again.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Wow, guys, the reviews are just amazing. I'm glad people seem to be getting into my story... and I was very amused by those of you who called Jackson a jerk and other such names. Heehee. Yes, he is, isn't he?

Chapter Three

He switched the radio on as the light turned green again. Jazz began to pour out of the speakers, the light tone rising and falling, the sounds of the piano counterbalancing the melody. Now Lisa really did feel like being sick. "You're going to have to stop the car."

"Sorry, Lisa. We have places to be."

"I'm going to throw up," she protested, voice shaking. She wished it would stop doing that.

"You're just going to have to hold it in."

Lisa swallowed hard and continued to look around her for anything. Anything that might help her get out of this. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Driving," he said shortly. "You ask too many questions."

"No, I mean tomorrow."

"Well, Leese, tomorrow is when everything goes into play. You see," he said, voice catching in his throat as they flew over a pothole, (Lisa gasped and held on to the arm rest for dear life) "You have two options. I want to see John Reinold dead, as you might imagine. But if my fingerprints are on the weapon that kills him, they'll trace it back to me, which, of course, is a very bad thing. And since, thanks to you, I already have a record, well, you can imagine where that might lead. So I want to pass the job off to someone else. You."

"Coward," Lisa spat. It had taken her a good fifteen minutes, but this was all the courage she was able to muster.

He pulled off to the side of the road and slammed the breaks. Lisa flew forward, seatbelt catching her and burning her chest. "Don't you ever call me that again," he said, turning around. Jackson's eyes were narrowed, his nostrils flaired, and the last time Lisa had seen him that angry was in the bathroom on the plane. He looked like he would have liked very much to strangle her. He started the car again, pressing on the accelerator harder than necessary.

"I can assume you're not going to kill John Reinold for me," he continued, as if nothing had happened.

"I think we both know the answer to that."

"Then this is where things get difficult. I need someone else to do it for me, and I know you won't do it, so we'll have to find others that can. You will walk into the hotel early tomorrow morning and I'm going to follow you. You're going to pretend like nothing's wrong and I'm going to hide somewhere in the hotel. When the Killmore presidential party walks in the door, you're going to call me and let me know. I'll take things from there."

"You're going to hold the hotel hostage," Lisa said in horror.

"I always knew you were a smart girl."

"Why do you need me then?" she asked weakly.

"Oh, I'm just doing this for fun," he said darkly.

Lisa moved her legs up to her chest and hugged them. It only took a few minutes of silence before Jackson stopped the car in front of a rundown house. "All right. Wait for me in here. I'll come around and let you out." He reached over and grabbed the gun. "Don't get cute."

She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of crying. She'd done enough of that on the plane. In order to find his vulnerability she had to prove to them that she was stronger than before.

He opened the door and grabbed her arm so hard she cried out in pain. He pulled her out and began walking. The two of them made a strange pair; she was eager to get this out of the way and so walked quickly, while Jackson walked with a limp, slowing everything down.

"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" he asked stiffly.

"No."

"You'd better go anyway. It's going to be a long night." He shoved her into a rundown bathroom and closed the door. It made a clicking noise; he must have locked her in. She knew he was waiting right outside the door in case she took too long. The sink was rusty and had grime on the inside and it looked as if the toilet could use a good plumbing. Lisa was disgusted, but there was nothing that could be done.

It was only then that she let herself be weak. She used the bathroom quickly, feeling tears press against her eyes. This time, she didn't fight them, but let them come in a sea. Shaking, she looked around for anything that might protect her. Jackson had apparently prepared for this-- there was nothing. Not even in the medicine cabinet. Not even a window. She pulled back the moldy, dusty shower curtain. No bar of soap. It seemed like such a desperate situation. _Pull yourself together. There's always a way out._

"Are you done yet?" Jackson asked testily.

"No, not quite," she lied, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and trying to get her brain to focus.

"Hurry up, Leese. You've got thirty seconds."

It was enough time to pull herself together and dab at her eyes with the last bit of toilet paper, at any rate. She looked at herself in the soapy mirror. Her image was faded and cloudy, but Lisa could still see how tired, how frightened, and how pale she looked. She didn't recognize herself in the mirror. This wasn't Lisa Reisert, it was a frightened woman pretending to be Lisa Reisert. She pulled her shoulders back and stood up straight, fluffing her hair and letting her curls flop around her head. It was a little better, but the woman in the mirror still looked scared to death.

The door opened with a click and Jackson walked in. "Women. A man would have been out of there in thirty seconds, tops." He grabbed her arm again and yanked her out.

"I can walk myself," Lisa snapped. This was the Lisa Reisert she'd come to know since the day of the plane. _Probably better than you can_, she wanted to say.

"Normally I'd trust you, but you've tried to escape too many times for that," Jackson said, looking around for... something. He looked distracted. "Ah, here it is." He smiled again, in that weird way he had that wasn't really a smile. "Enjoy. It's your accomodations for the night." He shoved her in and flipped on the lights. Again, no windows. Nothing. Just a run down cot that looked like it'd break under her weight. Then, before Lisa had a chance to tell him exactly how much she hated him, he closed the door and locked it.

Her stomach growled loudly, which reminded her she hadn't had anything to eat since her lunch break. That had been five hours ago. It was ten o'clock at night according to her watch. She watched as seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to sets of minutes, and sets of minutes turned to an hour. There was nothing to do, nothing to pass the time. She'd just have to sit there and listen to her stomach complain.

Lisa had waited for him, it was true. Ever since he'd walked into the court room, gasping loudly and staring daggers at her. She knew the only thing keeping him back was the fact that they kept him behind bars during the trial. Otherwise she probably would have been dead a long time ago. Something inside her knew it had to happen, Jackson returning.

God, she used to have such faith in human nature. She wondered why.

Sleep didn't visit her that night. At one point, Jackson had walked by and yelled at her to turn off the lights, so she'd had to comply. But all she did was lie on the cot, listening to it squeak angrily every time she moved. It was also hard not to think about food. When she got out of this she'd order a big plate of shrimp in that restaurant down the street from the hotel she'd never bothered to visit. She'd drink wine and treat herself to dessert.

The sun filtered in early that morning. She wondered when he'd come by and let her out. Maybe he'd forgotten about her. Maybe she'd be stuck in here forever.

But there was something lying on the ground... something dark. Was that a crowbar? She picked it up with trembling hands, enjoying the feeling of power it gave her. Jackson had allowed her in a room with a weapon?

"Lisa are you ready to go?" he asked from outside the door, making her jump.

"Almost. I'm just, um, waking up now."

"I'm going to hand you new clothes and you're going to put them on. Then we're leaving."

She stashed it away as quickly and quietly as she could. He opened the door and thrust them at her. It was an old sweatshirt on jeans, probably his. "This is too big for me and they'll never let me in with this," she argued. "At _my_ job, they actually expect us to look professional."

Jackson examined her with cold eyes. "You'll put them on and stop arguing. I don't want you to smell wearing the clothes from yesterday, and you might as well put on something more comfortable." He slammed the door shut and called, "You have thirty seconds."

She pretended to do as she was told. Lisa held up the sweatshirt. It was several sizes too big for her. It wouldn't matter in a few minutes, anyway.

He opened the door and Lisa pretended that she was in the process of doing as she'd been told. "Turn around, you didn't give me enough time," she said in her sweetest voice.

"Cut the crap and put the damn shirt on," Jackson said, turning around.

She was surprised how easy it had been. As quietly as she could, Lisa picked up the crowbar and enjoyed the slight rusty feel. Some of the rust came off on her hands. _Good-bye, Jack_, she thought. _It's been nice knowing you, but not really. _She held it like a baseball bat, up over her head, arms trembling with adrenaline.

Power was a thin shadow against his hair. Then he turned around. Several things happened all at once, and Lisa's world officially went all wrong. His eyes were wide and a malicious expression crossed his face, like it had in the airport after she'd shoved the pen in his throat. He yanked the crowbar out of her hands so hard it made a loud clunk as it hit the ground and bounced. She screamed as he grabbed her hand and wrenched it behind her back.

"Don't you ever do that again," he yelled into her ear, twisting her arm again. Her arm was coming out of her socket, she was pretty sure. Right here and now, she was going to die. She cried out as he marched her to the living room table, where the gun lay there waiting for them. He shoved the barrel into the side of her neck and this time she let the tears come. "You're going to get into the car and you're not going to say another word until we get to the hotel."

They went out to the car together. Lisa was desperate for a neighbor, a car, anything to come by. But in the daylight she saw what she hadn't seen last night-- the house was abandoned and rundown, and out in the middle of nowhere. Jackson wasn't stupid; he had taken her to a place where there was no one to hear her scream. He shoved her in and fastened her seatbelt for her quickly. Then he slid in to the front and started the car much quicker than necessary. He turned around and waved the gun in her face.

"You forget, Lisa. We have the hotel and the entire presidential party tapped. We know exactly where they are. Say another word, and John Reinold won't be the only person dead tonight."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Wow, I am still excited by the response this has been getting! I think I'm going to make a list of all the names you've been calling Jackson throughout this fic and call him all those names next time I watch the film. I can see it now: "Jerk! Bastard! Brute!" Heehee. Thanks for all of your reviews.

Oh, and **seghen**, to answer your question, I decided to have Lisa eat at five because a.) it goes along with the spontaneity of an actual hectic job... some jobs you just can't eat until later; and b.) because I didn't have the heart to have Lisa go from noon until 8 a.m the next day without food! Yikes!

This goes along with the "teen" rating... so... bewarned. Mature-ish. I'll shut up now.

Chapter Four

Lisa was forced to stay quiet. She wanted to scream and yell and throw herself out of the car, to run to the nearest police station. But there was nothing that could be done. Jackson continued to talk at her, but as her final act of rebellion, she chose to ignore every word he said.

She thought about everything. She thought about being five years old and very frightened. Lisa used to be afraid of thunderstorms; every time the sky rumbled her heart rumbled inside of her too. One night in particular stood out in her memory. It had been before the divorce, and both of her parents were sitting downstairs, sharing a glass of wine.

She'd tried to be brave. She'd tried to ride out the storm and clutch her teddy bear and throw the covers over her head whenever she saw a flash of lightning. But the fear had gotten to be too much for her to handle, so she'd run downstairs.

"What are you doing up, sweets?" her mother asked, smiling. "Come here." She opened her arm and let Lisa curl up next to her. Some of the red wine in her glass splashed around a little, and Lisa had been afraid that the wine would spill all over the navy blue couch.

Her dad grinned a little, too. "You know, there's nothing to be afraid of. It's just noise."

"And lightning," Lisa had added firmly. "I can see it outside my window."

"But it's outside, Lisa. It can't hurt you."

Her mother added gently, "You know, it's all right to be scared sometimes. Even adults get scared. I'll let you stay through the loudest part of the storm, and then you have to go upstairs and get some rest, okay?" Her mother bent down and kissed the top of her head.

Lisa felt relaxed, sitting next to her mother, cradled in her arms. She slept there, absolutely convinced that as long as her mother loved her and was holding her, nothing could hurt her.

But then Lisa snapped out of the memory. In front of her was the hard leather seat and Jackson. It was reality.

He slammed the breaks on outside of the hotel. It was just about opening time. On a normal day Lisa would go about turning the lights on, checking to see if anyone had left complaints in the night, and making sure the continental breakfast was served precisely from 7:30-9:00. But today wasn't a normal day, and she waited for his instruction.

"I have everything tapped, Leese. Don't even try to make a phone call because I'll hear everything you say. I'll be down in the basement and you'll go about business as usual. Wait until I let you out." The click meant that the car was unlocked. She ignored him and got out by herself.

"Leese, what did I tell you?" he was turning dangerous again.

"Look, Jack," she said as sweetly as she could, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. There's nowhere I can go, anyway. Chances are, even if I could run to my car you'd shoot me down. I'm going in by myself."

She got to the machine to type in the password to get in and heard the click before she felt the cold metal against her neck. "Leese, I'm warning you, let's not cop an attitude, all right?"

Her whole body became tense as she struggled to remember the password. She'd typed it in just about every day of her life, and now her mind had gone blank.

"You'd better hurry," he said darkly.

She typed in the first combination she could remember, hoping it was _this_ password and not the one to her ATM account or something. The door clicked and she knew she'd gotten it right. Thank God. Jackson had pulled the gun away from her neck.

Lisa sighed in frustration as Jackson went down the stairs and she went about opening the Lux Atlantic for the day. She felt physically ill; pretty soon hundreds of employees and customers would be captives, too. It was unfair and wrong.

"Thank God you're here, Miss Reisert!" said Tom Shill, one of the maintenance men. "We just found out the security camera downstairs is busted. Tried to fix it last night, but apparently there's some red tape we've had to get through. You'll need to call Ed Wilkins who owns the Lux Atlantic chain--"

One glimmer of hope fluttered inside of her-- if the security camera in the basement was busted, then Jackson couldn't _see_ what was going on. He might be able to hear everything, but not see it. Lisa cut Tom off before Jackson could put two and two together as well. "Yeah, I'll call them later," she said with a grin.

"Did you have a nice night last night?" Tom asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

_No, it was the worst night of my life. Thanks for bringing it up._ "Yeah," she lied weakly. "You?"

"Yeah, I guess. Kids kept me up late last night. I swear, Monica will sleep through anything. She promised me we could take turns taking care of the kids, but she won't wake up for anything." Tom chuckled. Lisa knew he complained about his family, but he loved them very much and most of the time wouldn't stop bragging about them. She felt bad; he wouldn't see them again for a very long time.

And then Lisa had an idea. She couldn't get to every one of the employees and customers, but-- she began to scribble something down on a piece of paper.

_Get out. You need the day off... thanks for all your hard work. I expect you back here tomorrow morning._

She passed it over to him as he drank his coffee. He read the note as her heart pounded. "That's a laugh, Miss Reisert. There's a lot to be done and it pays the bills." And then, Lisa's heart plummeted to her stomach as she watched Tom take off and go into the elevator, whistling the whole way.

She could hardly bear to think of how upset Mrs. Shill would be later today.

The elevator beeped a few minutes later and this time it was Mr. and Mrs. Stewartson. "Miss Reisert," Mrs. Stewartson said energetically. "We're looking for a new restaurant for breakfast. Not that we don't like breakfasts here," she added hastily, "but we're looking for something new. Got any recommendations?"

"Hastings, down the street," Lisa said quickly, probably too quickly. Usually she tried to surmise what would be best for each individual customer based on their personality, the way they dressed, and the way they interacted with others. But today was different. She wanted as many people to get out of the hotel as possible, and quickly. "It's a great restaurant, I think you'd like it."

And she tried the note trick again.

_Get out. Don't return until later tonight. Terrorist in basement. Please call police._ _And don't say a word-- hotel tapped. _She passed the note on. Great. Mrs. Stewartson probably thought she was a paranoid lunatic. Mrs. Stewartson passed the note to her husband who apparently hadn't read the whole note. "A terrorist in the basement?" he said loudly.

Shit, shit, _shit_. "Get the hell out of here," Lisa whispered as energetically as she could. They didn't need to be told twice, after seeing Lisa's panicked expression. They both ran out the double doors.

As for her own safety, she ran into her office and shut the door. And-- her keys. Damn. Jackson had them. She was going to die today. Her arm was still extremely sore from when he had twisted it behind her and she wasn't even half his match in terms of strength.

Well, there _were_ pens on her desk. She grabbed one, feeling dizzy and sore and so, so frightened.

"Well," she heard from the other side of the door. "I thought I knew you better than that, Leese. My whole plan for stealing you last night was to make you too scared to fight back today. I see my plan didn't work as well as I'd hoped. I'd kill you now if I didn't want you here to take care of all these people. You're nothing to me. When this is all over, you're going to be another one of my victims and no one will see you again until you're lying in a ditch somewhere."

Her legs trembled underneath her, and she fell helplessly on the ground in front of her desk. The pen drooped out of her hand. He was talking about her death as if death didn't matter, as if it was just another thing on his to-do list. She wondered where Cynthia was. She hoped Cynthia wouldn't make it.

"I see I'm going to have to work harder," he continued, barging in the door and standing over her. Lisa screamed, hoping someone, _anyone_ would hear her and come in. He moved quickly, pressing his hand over her mouth. "I'll kill anyone who walks in here, Lisa. I can't fail this time. Thanks to you, I've already failed once, and you know what that means in my business? It's better you than me dead, Leese. Now, after that slip up, there's some serious work to be done. I've got a bunch of guys out there to take care of any potential police who might be snooping around. And I've got back up to help me with the actual hotel. Don't screw this up, Leese. I'm serious about this." He let go of her, pushing her hard.

And with that, he left Lisa with nothing to do but feel her helplessness and her fear.

The rest of the morning passed by in agony. The Killmore party had called for security reasons (_not like it'll matter in when you get here anyway_, she'd thought numbly.) Cynthia had come in slightly late, chattering away happily about a man she'd met the night before, and then reminded Lisa that Mark had asked for the day off.

And then she heard a noisy party walk through. Two men lead the way, and Lisa recognized them as Bob Killmore and John Reinold."...well, it's matter of whether high stakes testing really works," said one of the men. Men and women in suits followed behind the two men, carrying balloons and campaign posters. "The stats say they do, but that could be for any number of reasons..."

Killmore and Reinold stopped in front of the desk. Rebecca peered out shyly from behind her father.

"We'll sweep the grounds," said one of the Secret Service men. "Go on ahead upstairs but don't go anywhere else unless you're with one of us."

"Hope you find everything comfortable," Lisa managed to say. _Get the hell out of here. _She wondered if either politician had ESP. Unlikely, but it would make her life a lot easier. She allowed herself to fall into step with them, escorting them and their secret service agents to their room.

In the elevator, Mrs. Killmore looked at her sympathetically. "Honey, you're shaking. You feeling all right?"

"I'm fine," Lisa lied. She wondered how many times she'd lied to hotel patrons that day. Probably more than she'd ever lied to anyone.

Rebecca gave her a slightly inquisitive glance. Her eyebrows furrowed. Lisa really _did_ wonder if that girl wasn't equipped with some sort of supernatural mind-reading ability. She'd taken enough science courses in high school and college to know that kind of thing didn't exist. But Rebecca seemed to have a keen knowledge of just about everything.

"You sure you're all right?" Mrs. Reinold said to her daughter, pulling some tissues out of her purse and wiping Rebecca's cheek.

"I'm _sure_, Mom. And I'm twelve, not nine."

"I know, dear, I just get so worried sometimes..."

Mrs. Reinold's worrying did nothing for Lisa's nerves. If anything, it made her feel guilty as she escorted the two families into the hallway.

It happened all at once. Lisa, the Reinolds, and the Killmores saw the Secret Service men lying on the ground, dead. Mrs. Reinold screamed, her voice echoing dully in the hallway. Lisa shuddered. It was all she was capable of at the moment; it seemed that emotion evaded her now. She couldn't scream or cry; she could only be numb.

Jackson and several men in suits followed behind him. Lisa noticed Jackson didn't have his gun with him, but each of the men behind him had one.

"Mr. Killmore. Comply with everything we tell you and no one gets hurt. Fail to negotiate with us and, well, I'm sorry to say, the Reinolds family will next be seen in a closed casket," one of the men behind Jackson said firmly. "Now. Let's all talk in here, shall we?"


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry this took so long, guys. I've had a weird month, so I haven't really been in the mood to update. Now things are getting back to normal, so I'm hoping updates will be much quicker from now on.

Chapter Five

Lisa flopped down on the floor, letting everyone else find actual furniture. She was still a people pleaser, but this time with a little bit of an edge. Jackson sat down next to her, much to her dismay. She was his, that was clear, with the crack of his kneecap as he lowered himself to the ground.

She sighed and began to edge away from him. He put one firm hand over her wrist. _Get yourself together_, she told herself firmly.

He let go when it became clear that she wasn't going anywhere. Rebecca began to cry softly, sitting crossed-legged on one of the queen beds. A single tear fell on a dark blue flower in the center of the bedspread. Lisa's heart hurt for her. She shouldn't have to deal with any of this. Her mother reached over and grabbed some Kleenex.

"What's the meaning of all this?" Mr. Killmore asked, a clear edge to his voice. Lisa had to admire his bravery (or stupidity, she wasn't sure which) in the situation.

"So glad you asked that," one of the men in suits said. "It seems as if you have a good chance of being elected in two weeks. Congratulations. The problem is, due to the stupidity of our _friend_ here," (and with this, he jerked his head towards Jackson) "things didn't quite go according to plan, and Keefe is going free."

"But you must have gotten what you wanted," Killmore said, as if trying to reason with a two year old with a nasty temper. "I mean, your _friend_ was declared not guilty, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, but that's not the issue. One of your main campaign promises has dealt with terrorism and the way that the "Red Eye" case was handled. Obviously we can't have you win or sharing your platform on the issue, because that would be bad for us."

"So what are you suggesting?" Reinold asked impatiently.

"Either someone offers to kill you, or we'll hold the entire hotel hostage until someone does it for us."

Mrs. Reinold gasped and held Rebecca close to her; this time Rebecca didn't protest.

"Why don't you do whatever you need to right now," Mr. Reinold said standing. "Save a lot of trouble. Let all the innocent people go free."

"Well, it's not as if we don't see the merit in all that, but, first, tracing our fingerprints on the gun isn't good for us. And also, our friend was a bit reckless here." This time the man pointed to a larger man with absolutely no warmth in his eyes. "Killed all your secret service agents and several of the hotel patrons were witnesses to murder. Can't have any of them running to the police, now, can we?"

Lisa had always thought that "the silence was deafening" was a cliché, but it wasn't. It was truth.

And then it hit her. The plane, the house back there was Jackson's territory. The hotel was hers. She knew every nook and crevice of the old hotel, and the recent additions. Every escape. Every secret. She forced herself to keep a deadpanned expression. If Jackson Rippner had been paying attention, he might have caught on to something. But he was distracted, and Lisa was a fairly decent actress. She even looked down as if she felt hopeless, too. For the first time since the plane, however, Lisa Reisert was _not_ without hope.

"You should return to the lobby," said a dark haired man by the window. "That's where all the people are sitting."

Without another word, the two families stood and were escorted out by the thugs.

Jackson eyed her, almost suspiciously, as he stood up to join his friends. "Remember, Lise--" he started.

"Don't get cute, maybe? Is that what you were going to say?" Lisa retorted. "You know, _Jack_, maybe you should get yourself another tagline."

Jackson stood, apparently unsure what to make of this. For one frightening moment, Lisa thought he might attack her, but he just stood there. Lisa was almost positive she heard one of Jackson's cronies snort.

The group left her alone in the hotel. Almost compulsively, Lisa straightened the towels on the rod and checked the door. She'd have to get someone in here; some of the paint was peeling. She turned the bathroom lights out and rearranged the flowers a hotel staff member had placed on the bedside table. Lisa Reisert had people to reassure and a war to fight. After checking everything again to make sure it was in a safe spot, Lisa straightened her back, tossed her curls out of her face, left the room, and got into the elevator. The first step on her agenda was calming all of those people and making sure the cronies didn't hurt them.

The next was getting rid of Jackson Rippner.

What awaited Lisa was a bunch of hysterical people. Cynthia had evidently shown up, and of course she was close to hysterics.

"You're not helping anything," Lisa hissed, crossing her arms and looking out over the mass of people sitting on the floor. Some obnoxious kid was playing with the plant display in the middle of the lobby. He looked about thirteen or fourteen and didn't seem too upset at the recent developments. Some of the younger children were running around. They were too young to understand. A teenager had taken out her i-pod and had started singing along. Some of the older kids were crying while mothers held them. Men were asking the hotel staff for more information.

Cynthia looked at Lisa, her characteristically large eyes even larger than normal. "They came down here and I didn't know what to do. It's been mayhem."

"Don't panic. I've got a plan."

"You do? That's good," Cynthia said, looking encouraged. "What is it?"

"I don't know yet."

"Good," Cynthia said sarcastically. "I'm glad of that."

Lisa ignored Cynthia and the young boy playing with the plant and stood on the rim of the plant display. She was slightly afraid of falling-- high heels and narrow rims didn't really go together. "Can I have your attention, please," she said in a loud voice, one she didn't know she had.

Everyone was silent for the moment and peered up at her curiously. A baby wailed in the background. Lisa hoped Jackson or one of his friends wasn't harrassing the poor thing. "I need everyone to stay calm. I know you're all frightened, but the hotel staff and I have everything under control." A few of the staff members looked at her from against the wall as if to say, _I sure hope _you_ have everything under control, because I sure don't._ She took a deep breath. "There's breakfast-type food in the staff area, since we serve continental breakfasts. Unfortunately, we don't have much else, so please be patient with us. We're going to be here for probably a pretty long time, so if you have questions, please see me or another staff member. I'd recommend you go back to your rooms and get blankets and pillows to make yourself comfortable."

She was impressed with herself just then-- Lisa was frightened out of her mind, but she felt as if she'd been fairly calm during the announcement.

"And we're counting every single one of you," said a thug from the floor. He had a naturally much louder voice than she did. He made sure they saw his gun as everyone began shuffling around and moving. "So all of you had better make it back. I wouldn't be at all hesitant to use this thing on someone."

The silence was eerie.

She watched absently as her patrons got up to go. Several hitmen stood by the doors to count how many had left. Lisa was exhausted. Her arm hurt from where Jackson had wrenched it behind her this morning, her knees hurt from falling to the ground, and her back hurt from being so stressed out. She wished she could curl in a corner and make it all go away.

"Nice leadership skills," Jackson said from behind her. She wished she'd stop flinching every time she heard that deep voice. "Next time, though, I wish you'd be a little more brief." He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around so she was facing him. She stared up at him defiantly. She refused to give in to fear. "Where did that come from, field hockey? Were you a star on the field?"

Lisa refused to answer him, becoming angrier by the minute.

"You'd better get used to it," Jackson said sternly. "Me and you, stuck in this hotel for a very long time. The games are only beginning." His blue eyes seemed to be examining her soul, to see if she was ready for it. "Games are fun, Lise."

He let go of her, and she watched in horror as he began ushering hostages back into the lobby.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I know I've said this a billion and a half times in the past, but this is for real pretty intense. I was kind of surprised I wrote this, actually, but the climax had to occur _somewhere_, didn't it? ;)

Chapter Six

"History repeats itself here today in Miami, Florida. The Red Eye terrorist is back, this time taking over the Lux Atlantic hotel. Our news station, WXYT is reporting live from just in front. It's hard to see anything right now since it's dark outside, but--"

Lisa rolled her eyes at the news reports. The TVs were blaring and the cronies seemed more than happy to see this unraveling on television.

The most hellish day in the world had finally came to a close. It had taken a long time for everyone to settle down. Parents had finally convinced their children to sleep by telling them that it was a giant sleepover and the men in suits were the adults and they tried to gloss over the fact that in this case, the adults all had guns.

Children slept innocently next to their parents. Some of them whispered to each other quietly in groups while others tried to get some rest, too. Most of Jackson's cronies were sitting in chairs around them, either nodding off or talking to one another.

Jackson himself was nowhere in sight, and this worried Lisa more than anything else. She tried to relax on the hard floor of the hotel lobby, but her body was having none of that. She still hurt all over, and her back protested angrily as she rolled over on her back.

Lisa gave up on the battle as her watch turned to 12:59 a.m. At this rate, she'd never fall asleep. She wished she'd brought sleeping pills or something to knock her out long enough that she could avoid the chilling reality in front of her. But of course, yesterday morning she never would have thought any of this possible.

The woman next to her stirred and sat up, too. "You're awake, too?" she whispered. Neither one of them dared do anything else.

"Yeah," Lisa said glumly.

"I can't sleep. Wish I'd fall into a deep sleep, just like Jessica here has," the woman said, fondly stroking a stray piece of hair out of a small child's face. "She's my daughter. Born two years ago. It was such a surprise to me and Harry. I already have two step-children, you know. They're both his kids. One's seventeen. She's visiting colleges. Harry took her out earlier this morning to visit the University of Miami. She really wants to go to school in the south. Margaret hates the snow." The woman laughed and then looked away. "Sorry. I apparently don't know when to shut up. I'm sure you don't care."

Lisa shook her head adamantly. Honestly, she was so happy to be talked to as if she were a fellow human being rather than an animal or a prisoner that she didn't care what the woman talked about. "No, you're fine. What about the other daughter?"

"Oh, she's ten. It's weird, the age differences, isn't it? Well, we make do with what we have. She's staying with her grandmother. Didn't want to come with us, even though we'd offered to take her to Disney World. Come to think of it, I bet her grandmother's spoiling her to death. That's probably why she didn't want to come with us."

Lisa giggled a little and watched Jessica breathe for a moment. It was so peaceful, to watch the child's chest rise and fall. "Well, I graduated from the University of Miami. Your ten year old probably isn't missing much."

"Not a fan?"

"I liked it, I just... I think college students are scary people to anyone, especially ten year olds." She laughed again, and the sound startled her. Lisa had thought she'd never find a reason to laugh again.

"What's that?" the woman asked, suddenly. She pointed at Lisa's elbow. Much to her embarrassment, Lisa noticed her shirt sleeve had risen up over her elbow. "Honey, I think your elbow is broken. I can't really tell because there's no light, but—"

Lisa shook her head adamantly. "I'm fine."

"What happened? That monster didn't hurt you too badly, did he?" she asked, eyes wide with concern. "May I--" she reached out as if to touch Lisa's arm.

Lisa nodded and winced slightly at the woman's gentle touch. "I'm no doctor, but I _am_ a physical therapist, so I work with broken bones all the time. This definitely feels like one. That hurt?"

Lisa winced again, and gritted her teeth. "Not too badly," she lied.

"Yeah, I'm going to look at it again in the morning, but right now I'm going to play it safe." The woman rummaged around in her suitcase and pulled a white box out of it. "I'm so paranoid these days I never go anywhere without a first aid kit." The woman took out some tape, a sliver of wood, and a large white cloth. She began to turn the cloth and wood into a splint. "There," she said once she'd finished.

"Thank you, Mrs.--" she struggled to remember when the family had checked in. What were their names again?

"Call me Julia," the woman said.

They were now attracting the attention of their captors. With one menacing look from a particularly frightening looking man, they both began to settle down underneath their blankets.

"How did you know it was-- _him _who hurt me?" Lisa asked.

"Honey, I've watched all the news reports. And I've been listening in to their conversations. He's said some things to the others. I don't know if you've heard any of them since we've been here, but Lisa, you need to be careful."

A chill shot through her body like a bullet out of a gun. They were silent for a few moments. Suddenly, the steady sound of breathing told Lisa that Julia had finally fallen asleep.

It took awhile, but Lisa finally fell into a vivid dream. Jackson stood over her, knife in hand, while she watched in horror. She couldn't move or speak. He pushed the knife down, closer to her throat, all the while humming. He inserted the knife deeper and deeper into her skin until she woke up.

Everything came back to her. With one glance of her watch, she knew she'd been asleep for a few hours and hadn't slept well at all. She sighed, not daring to make much noise. A few people were stirring, too.

The cronies weren't bothering to speak quietly at all. Lisa listened, eyes focused on the ornate decorations on the ceiling.

"You've gotta kill the bitch, Mike," one of them was saying. She had no idea who they were talking to, or about. She assumed it was Killmore's wife. But then she looked over and saw Jackson, much to her surprise. He was talking to some of the other men.

Jackson's real name was Mike? Weirdly, it hadn't occurred to her that Jackson Rippner had been an alias, but that certainly made sense. Who the hell named their kid after a famous murderer, anyway? If she'd had any common sense she would have darted out of the Tex Mex and right to security after "Jack... Jack... Jack theee... oh."

"I'm working on it," Jack (or Mike) mumbled.

"You're crap at being a manager," one of the other men said. "She outsmarted you _two times_."

With a start, Lisa realized they were talking about _her_. She couldn't think why-- didn't they have an assassination to plan?

"Rough her up a bit. Better her than you, right?" one of the men said darkly.

"Yeah," Jackson said. She saw something move in the darkness, maybe it was his arm.

And then it hit her. Up until now, she'd thought it had just been a battle between her and Jackson. A twisted battle of wills. And now she realized it was between her and the rest of them.

Just when Lisa thought she'd never get to sleep again, she nodded off and did not know how long she slept.

When she woke again, it was much brighter outside. Lisa blinked a few times, trying to figure out why she'd been woken so suddenly. And then she heard the screaming.

One of the men was holding Rebecca tightly. "Someone out here better volunteer to finish off her father, or she'll be the first in a series of deaths here."

Women were crying, men were yelling, and everyone in the room was in hysterics.

"Stop that," Lisa croaked, her voice not working. She stood, walking towards them, almost blindly. "Stop it." It came out much louder, on the verge of hysteria, and she didn't care.

"What do we have here, _Jack_? You wanna take care of this? It's your _girlfriend_."

Jack looked at the floor. Lisa felt disgusted and a little embarrassed by this terminology.

"I hate to break it to you, Jack, but now's your chance. How's this? You have an hour to do what you need to do with her and Rebecca goes free. Fair compromise, I think."

"I don't need an hour," Jack said quietly. He cleared his throat.

"What do you need then, _fifteen minutes_?" The man laughed and Lisa had never heard such a sickening sound. "An hour should get the job done. You know what we want."

Lisa wasn't sure what they were talking about, but given the fact they were about to kill an eleven year old, she didn't care. "I'll do it. Whatever it is."

"Lisa, you don't--" Jackson's voice was hard, the way he always talked to her, but some of the venom was out of his voice. He finally looked up, and those chilling blue eyes looked intently at her. "Don't put yourself through this--"

"An hour," Lisa interrupted, sounding much braver than she felt. "And when I get back, that girl had better be watching whatever she wants on the television."

"Who said you're going to be coming back?" the man asked, smiling.

Lisa trembled, but she did not care-- they released the girl.

"What do you like to watch?" the man asked her. When Rebecca did not respond, he flipped the television to a cartoon. "There. You happy?"

Lisa shrugged and said, "So, what's going to happen now?"

"Lisa, please--" Jackson said with a sigh. Almost desperation.

"Let's find somewhere private," she interrupted again. Quite frankly, she just wanted to get this over with and keep some of her dignity in tact in the process. She opened the door to her office and Jackson followed her reluctantly. Lisa thought she heard a whoop coming from a teenager and it made her feel sick. It was just like the flight attendants on the plane. "Lock the door," she demanded.

"What? I--" he said.

"You stole my keys from me, remember?"

"Yeah," he muttered, shutting the door. He reached into his pockets and locked the door. She heard a click and knew everything was going to be different for her. It was pain and fear and death and the parking lot and she regretted making the deal.

"Lie down." he said firmly. Jackson seemed reluctant to look at her, but the venom in his voice was coming back.

"Why?"

"Don't ask me questions," Jackson snapped, and Lisa knew done being insecure.

"Just do what I say."

"I--"

"Lisa," he yelled, grabbing her good arm and pulling her down, "if you don't do what I say once in awhile--" He put his hand around her throat as she lay there, vulnerable and afraid. Then, Jackson let go, just like that.

He did his work quickly and quietly, tearing apart the splint Julia had made for her. "How convenient," he muttered, as he dropped her arm back down on the floor. Lisa's elbow screamed in protest. Jackson then folded the cloth into a thick triangle and she knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, he tied the cloth around her eyes and demanded she didn't move. He got up and she heard him rummaging around her desk drawer. "You don't have to do this," she whispered, repeating what she'd said over a year ago. "Really, Jack. We could just pretend."

She heard him take something out of the drawer and shove it shut. "You're wrong, Lisa, because as I've told you before, when managers don't please their clients their life goes to shit. It's better me than you getting roughed up, so if you could stop being so combatitive."

"Well," she said, tensing up as she sensed him coming nearer, "you _did _make me lie on the floor with a blindfold over my face. I'm not exactly pleased about that." He stood over her (she felt his shoes dig into her sides) and grabbed her wrists, forcing them up over her head. Her elbow was pins and needles. She heard the sickening sound of duct tape being unraveled, and felt the tape as he wrapped it around her wrists. Then he moved to her feet.

She couldn't move at all. "What are you going to do to me?" she asked, in horror. It was much more frightening when you couldn't see his face.

"You know, Lise, I'm getting really tired of your questions. I wasn't going to do this to you, but if I have to answer one more question I'm going to go nuts. Sorry," he said in an offhand manner that conveyed to her that he wasn't sorry at all. She heard more tape getting peeled off and knew what was coming. She wanted to scream, to cry, to yell for Cynthia, but thinking of Rebecca and what might happen to her kept her silent. He plastered tape over her mouth and Lisa was immobile and silent.

He reached over and fumbled with her C.D. player. Mozart's Requiem began to play. _Oh, yeah_, she said, remembering she'd put that C.D. in a week ago. How very fitting. This was Lisa's requiem, and Jackson was orchestrating it.

Again, she felt his shoes dig into her sides. Lisa thought for a moment that he was lowering himself over her body and when he heard the telltale sound of his kneecaps cracking she knew she was right. He touched the side of her cheek with his fingers, chillingly gentle. "I told you you shouldn't have offered to do this," he said gently, fingers moving down her body as if they were an invading army. Of course he rested on her scar; she wouldn't have expected otherwise. "You won't like it. You might say I was bullied into it, but you know what happened? I fell in love with you after the flight, Lisa. Isn't that weird?"

She shuddered at the fact that he _didn't_ call her Lise. For some odd reason, he managed to convey more venom when he said her real name.

"Bet you weren't expecting that."

She heard something else happen and Lisa felt a knife trailing her flesh. As the last crescendo in the first movement occurred--a glorious sound-- he began to alternate knife and fingers in his invasion of her skin. She gasped as she felt him nick her and she wondered if it had been on purpose or not.

Lisa began to force her mind to wander, to build up a defense mechanism against the monster. She remembered her German Music professor. She'd given them the libretto to Mozart's Requiem, translated in English. And then the professor forced them to listen to the piece over and over again to see if the tone of each movement matched what they were saying. No one had understood the point of the exercise, but that kind of thing always ended up on finals. So Lisa had poured over the notes and the piece until she'd had it memorized.

It had become a part of her by the end of the semester. She knew it so well she could feel it and she knew each word phonetically.

As the first movement ended, Jackson caressed her face. His hands were cold and left goosebumps. He then moved to her legs, starting the process over, and paused when his fingers reached a place they shouldn't have.

The final note in the first movement was glorious.

She let the tears fall way into the second movement as Jackson took his knife and nicked her just under her collarbone. The knife almost seemed to caress her skin and another scar would be gracefully forming where everyone could see if she wore a low-collar shirt again.

He took a break, nattering at her about the plane and how they'd first met and she struggled as she heard him sit in _her_ chair behind _her_ desk. He rolled over to her and surprisingly began to untie her hands and feet. They cried out in pain and then, without so much as any compassion, he ripped the tape off her mouth.

"Take off the blindfold," she said adamantly, as the last movement began to blare over the speaker.

He obeyed, surprisingly, and Lisa saw with one glance at her watch that her hour of hell wasn't over yet. They still had fifteen minutes.

Fear threatened to overcome her, and she was so sick and tired of being afraid and crying and not knowing what the hell would come next that she just lay there until he gave her further instructions. He didn't, not for a few moments. Lisa watched him try to catch his breath. She wondered if he was trying to come up with a new form of hell for her.

He wrenched her bad arm up with him and, at this, she cried out. When Mozart's singers sang about an all-consuming fire that never dies with miraculous sound and resonation, he slammed her into the wall by her bookshelf. Something hard and heavy hit her back-- once, twice, no, three times. She fell to the ground, winded, but he kept her up.

"This is why you don't want to mess with this," he said harshly into her ear. She cried, not being able to help herself.

At the last note, resonating clear and powerful, he let her go and stood there. She tried to read him but couldn't. His eyes seemed to convey many things, but Lisa didn't know what he was trying to convey with his expression. Fear, lust, maybe even disgust, it was impossible to tell.

_Amen_, her brain registered as the C.D. ended.

They both attempted to catch their breath, Lisa sore and shaking and numb; Jackson staring at her. Now, he was looking at her much the same way he had on the plane when she'd asked to use the bathroom and she found him, standing behind her in the aisle.

"You--" she couldn't find the words to describe this. She took the duct tape off the desk and chucked it at his head. She was beyond caring.

He stared at her in surprise, and she thought she was done for, but she was wrong. He changed expression only long enough to flinch, but continued staring at her.

"Why, Mike?" she asked quietly.

"What did you call me?" and his voice was quiet poison, the same it had been on the plane. Just loud enough that it was a whisper.

"Mike." She didn't care anymore.

"Don't you ever call me that _again_," he said, picking up the duct tape and tossing it carelessly back on the desk. It rattled on his last word, spun for a second, and then fell suddenly to stillness.

"But _why_?" She stepped closer to him. "We could have faked my injuries. You didn't have to do this."

"But I had to," he said, stepping closer to her, too. He smelled like cologne, an odor she'd come to abhor. It made walking into Elder-Beerman's a nauseating experience. "I can't get you out of my head, Lise. I want you. I _had_ to."

Her stomach turned at this. "There are other ways, you know."

Jackson stared at her for a long moment. "Show me."

This seemed so uncharacteristic of the man standing in front of her Lisa was slightly surprised. She came even closer to him, feeling his suit rub against her body. She smiled for a moment, even. But then the moment was over. She was angry Lisa, the Lisa in her right mind, the one that had to deal with a psycho. "Go to hell," she said, and with strength she didn't know she had, she shoved him over.

He grabbed her heel and she fell, but Lisa turned and grabbed the keys out of his pocket. She picked an especially long one (the key to her apartment) and pointed it at his eyes. "Don't you dare. Your hour is over, Mike. I shoved a pen in your throat. I'd have no trouble ruining your ability to see, too."

Jackson let her go in astonishment, and she ran to the door. With trembling hands, she managed to unlock it. She ignored the applause from the teenager who had made the noises at them as they'd walked into the office.

And then, Jackson stood behind her, clamping down on her shoulder.

"Oh, no you don't," came a voice Lisa recognized.

It was Julia, holding her first aid kit. Rebecca held a thick Harry Potter novel in her hands. Cynthia held a vase with water and no flowers. "I'd let Lisa go if I were you," said Julia.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Well, here it is. I wrote a kick-ass epilogue and hit writer's block on the last chapter, go figure. So here's the last chapter of the fic. Obviously since the epilogue is already written, it won't take as long as usual for me to post it. :)

Chapter Seven

"Go," Julia said in a strangled voice, and Lisa didn't have to be asked twice. She'd never been so relieved to get out of a situation in her life. As she turned in the doorway, she saw Rebecca hit Jackson on the kneecaps with the Harry Potter book. It was almost comical. And then Cynthia dumped the water out of the vase on the ground.

"No--" Lisa whispered. It was an expensive vase, and she knew they'd get into trouble if-- too late. The vase ended up on his head, raining down on all its fury.

The chase was on.

Cynthia caught up to Lisa quickly, and they were halfway up the stairs before Lisa grabbed her friend's arm and bent over, out of breath. "I can't... too much pain..."

"Can you make it to the top?" she asked. "We'll get into the elevator. But seriously, we need to move because I hear footsteps." Cynthia allowed Lisa to hold on to her arm as the two of them made their way upstairs. The irregular footsteps from behind them revealed that it was Jackson, deterred by his limp.

"Where's everyone else?" Lisa asked. "You don't suppose they—"

"Think about yourself for a moment," Cynthia said shortly. "Now, here's the elevator." As they crossed into the hallway on the first floor, two scared faces met them just by the elevator. It was Julia and Rebecca. "Floor six?" Julia asked, out of breath. She was clutching Rebecca's hand as if afraid letting go would ensure her death.

Jackson came up right behind them, panting and coughing. The door thankfully opened like salvation, and the four women slid in, praying to whatever they prayed to the door would close before Jackson got in, too. Julia pressed button after button with trembling hands, breathing heavily.

The door shut just in time, and Lisa thought of leaving on the tram just ahead of him. She knew he was angry. "We have no plan," she said.

"We have to think of something," Rebecca said, frowning slightly. And then: "Why does he hate you so much?"

Lisa was taken aback. She'd been so focused on the fact that he hated her and not _why_. "It's always been that way. He wanted me to kill William Keefe and I wouldn't do it."

"Are you scared?"

Lisa nodded, not sure she could speak under the circumstances. 'Scared' seemed like an understatement.

"So, what are we going to do?" Cynthia asked, biting her lip. Large brown eyes looked at Lisa, as if she was their last bit of hope.

"I have no idea," Lisa said, truthfully.

"That's incredibly reassuring," Cynthia said, rolling her eyes.

The elevator stopped on floor six. The group met Jackson there, as Lisa knew they would. The others did what Lisa could not do alone. In mere seconds, he found himself surrounded by women. Glancing only at Lisa, he smirked. "Well done," he said finally. "What are you going to do to me?"

There was a long pause in which Lisa waited for someone else to come up with a plan. She wanted to tell him exactly what she _wanted_ to do to him, but none of her ideas seemed very practical at the moment. Besides, he was staring at her and it was making her uneasy.

"Oh, I think it's up to Lisa to decide," Julia said, and now Lisa was aware of everyone looking at her.

"I don't know, Jackson. What's decent repayment?" she asked, feeling anger and despair well up inside of her. "Should I lead you on as if I find you attractive and then threaten you and those you love? Should I tie you up and do exactly what you did to me?" she found herself babbling on, desperate not to lose it. Bile rose in her throat. And then, with Julia and Cynthia holding him firmly on the spot, Lisa punched him over and over, hoping that for once he'd feel the pain he always made her feel. It was something she never thought she'd do, and she was sobbing by the time it was over. Out of breath. She turned away, unsure if the pain in her chest was real or emotional.

He was out of breath too, obviously. He limped madly towards her, but Cynthia and Julia restrained him again. "It didn't have to be this way," he said, looking coldly at her. Jackson smirked again. "You started it."

Lisa wanted to kill him. Killing was _not_ in Lisa Reisert's blood.

"I'll strike you a deal," Jackson said. "You leave me alone and don't do anything else, I talk to my men and a few hostages go free. Can't let you go free, of course, because we like you so much, but I think we'll let a few go. The crowd breathes a sigh of relief until the next time we threaten to kill people in here."

Lisa's eyes narrowed. Although the situation wasn't ideal, a few freed hostages were better than none at all. "How can I be sure you're telling the truth?"

"Have I ever lied?" He said, smiling wider. Condescending son of a bitch.

"Yes," she said. "You lied right off the bat, about your name. And then you had the gall to call _me_ a liar."

He looked as if he wanted to hit her, but refrained himself. "Yeah," was all he said.

"Yeah," she said back, uncertainly. "Go for it."

"Think about yourself for a change," Cynthia snapped at her. "Keep negotiating until they let _you_ go, dammit."

Jackson snickered. "Always thinking about others first, huh? Probably until the day you die."

"Something you should do more of," Lisa snapped.

"Except I haven't been raped in a parking lot, kidnapped on a plane, and held hostage in a hotel," he whispered, so others couldn't hear him.

She was shaking. The last of her resolve was deserting her. "You going to release the hostages, or are you going to stay here and annoy me?"

He grinned. And then, he walked away. His suit was wrinkled.

The women followed him downstairs, dead silent.

The men were negotiating who would go free. In the end, it was an elderly woman and her two young grandchildren, since everyone decided they wouldn't last very long if the situation got worse instead of better. Lisa watched as the door opened and flashing lights went off. For some odd reason, Jackson seemed determined it was him who escorted the hostages out of the building.

Lisa winced at the brightness and heard the police yell distantly, "Don't come any closer if you value your life" or something to that effect. When her eyes adjusted, she watched as Jackson kept moving.

The gunfire went off like explosions in the warm Miami afternoon.


	8. Epilogue

I said Friday or Saturday, but I'm sadly in love with reviews, so I'm posting this now. I also know I said kick-ass epilogue, and now I honestly hope I didn't let you guys down. Hee. Thanks for reviewing, this was fun. :)

Oh, and because I forgot before, I don't own these characters except for Julia. So don't sue me, Wes Craven and Carl Ellsworth, because I have zero money.

Again, thanks to all who read and reviewed. You guys are awesome.

Epilogue

In the end, they said that fourteen bullets went into Jackson Rippner. It had only taken three to kill him.

She wasn't sure what had happened next, exactly. In the chaos that had followed, the police stormed the hotel, made several arrests and, as Lisa stood there, absolutely numb, someone put a blanket around her shoulders and ushered her out of the building. She was shaking all over, suddenly cold.

The doctors later said she'd been in shock.

She'd thought of those slasher flicks she used to watch as a teenager and how the murderer never died. He always came back a second time. It was the rule of bad horror films and she was absolutely positive he'd jump back up and pull at her ankle or something.

But there had been nothing. She was escorted right past him, vaguely aware that if she was any closer to the body the pool of blood that was thickening on the sidewalk would get on her nice shoes.

The police had kindly helped her into the ambulance and she had sat there, watching the horrific scene unfold around her. The last thing she remembered of that day was lightbulbs flashing around her, like lightning.

Lisa thought this as the judge called for a thirty minute recess. It was ten men on trial, an organization, with over a hundred witnesses. The trial had been a never-ending repetition of facts, what happened when. It was impossible to explain to a courtroom emotion. Regret. Fear. Depression.

Cynthia gently put her arm around Lisa's shoulders, and for the first time Lisa did not flinch at the touch. Without speaking, the two of them agreed to go outside and to sit on the rim of the small wall around a quaint garden. Courtrooms shouldn't be this beautiful. They were places of dragging up dark memories, of being unable to articulate anything of importance.

"You okay?" Cynthia asked, knowing the answer right away.

Lisa nodded. She lied all the time now. It was beyond the difference of ordering a Seabreeze or a Baybreeze; it was defending her against herself.

_And then I found out he was seated next to me on the plane. _

_Did you think it was a coincidence, Ms. Reisert? _

_Yes, of course I did. _

_What did he say to you? _

_He asked me if I was stalking him. _

_Did he give any sign that he had a malicious intent? _

_No, not until we were completely in the air. _

"What are you doing after this?" Cynthia asked, clutching the rim of the wall as if it was her only means of support.

Lisa whispered, "Witness Protection. New name, new town."

Cynthia nodded and Lisa wondered if she'd expected it. "Keep me posted, though, okay? I need to come visit you."

Lisa shook her head, knowing if she said anything she'd cry. She'd cried enough in the last year to last a lifetime. She wondered if tear glands could just turn into deserts. She wondered if the constant headaches, the constant desire to sleep, the paranoia, the needing to keep her light on at night, would ever go away. "You're the new hotel manager," Lisa said, at an attempt to keep everything light. She examined the ground in order to keep from making it obvious to Cynthia that she was crying. Someone had spilled Pepsi on the ground; a straw floated in the middle of it as if trying to make its way out of the murky mess it had found itself in.

_What did he do when he found you writing the note to Mrs. Walkens? _

_He knocked me unconscious. _

_How long do you think you were out? _

_I'm really not sure. He told me when I woke up I'd been out for thirty minutes. _

_Do you think this is a fair estimate? _

_I really have no idea. _

_Do you think he did anything else while you were asleep? _

_I really have no idea-- I wasn't conscious. _

_So, what did he do next? _

"Why did they keep asking me questions about Jackson?" Lisa asked, more to herself than to Cynthia.

"Because they want to get to the bottom of this," said the supportive friend. Cynthia had grown a lot in the last year or so. She'd had to. Especially in the last couple of weeks. She was very diplomatic about visiting Lisa-- coming over at night, soothing her before bed, being there if needed. If not, she'd make Lisa a cup of tea and let herself out quietly. "You want that, don't you?"

Lisa shrugged. She wasn't sure what she wanted anymore. To be alone. To be with someone else. To curl under the covers. To watch bad movies until her brain oozed out of her ears. To work. To relax. It was all so confusing. "Dad's making me see a psychiatrist. They keep coming over to see how I'm doing." She vaguely knew she wasn't making any sense. She just spouted whatever came to mind and no one ever bothered to correct her.

"What do they have to say?"

"They say I have post-traumatic stress disorder. It's because I can't sleep and when I do I sleep for long hours, and I have nightmares and flashbacks and I'm just so... numb." Except she wasn't numb; she hurt all over.

_So then I told him I had to go to the bathroom. _

_He let you go? _

_Yes. _

_How long were you in there before he came in? _

_I don't know, probably about ten minutes. _

_Was that when you wrote the message on the mirror? _

_Yes. _

_Was he angry when he saw it? _

_Yes. _

_What did he do?_

_I don't remember. _

_You don't remember? _

_I'm having a hard time-- I'm sorry. _

_That's all right, Ms. Reisert. Take your time. _

_I'm really drawing a blank. Maybe if you ask me tomorrow I'll remember-- _

_It's okay, just do the best you can. _

_I think he shoved me into the wall. Yeah. I think that happened. _

Cynthia looked as if she wanted to say something, but didn't. Words just didn't work when your insides hurt worse than any physical scar you might have received. When you were worthless during court proceedings because your whole brain just wanted to shut down and forget everything. When your brain was so intent on shutting down you were having a hard time remembering exactly what Jackson looked like, even though he'd haunted your nightmares for over a year now. When he did make a cameo in your dreams, he turned into an actual monster. One night he killed your dad. One night he killed Cynthia. One night you woke up screaming because he killed you after telling you that he loved you.

"You want me to come over later tonight?" she finally asked.

Lisa nodded, and that was when her eyes turned into the Nile and emotion burst forth and her heart felt like it was falling down to where no one could reach. And it didn't feel good, the way she thought it was going to.

_So you made the phone call? _

_Yeah. _

_And Cynthia moved the Keefes? _

_Yeah. _

_How did you feel? _

_I felt awful. _

_And then he told you that Keefe's family was with him? _

_Not directly. I figured that one out on my own. _

_And when the plane landed, that's when you stabbed him in the throat with a pen? _

_Yes. _

_Your father told us what happened in Miami. What did he do to you at the hotel a month ago? Ms. Reisert?We really need to know. _

_I'm sorry. I can't remember that, either. _

_Please try. There are no witness accounts of this, besides you. _

_I remember I got this scar. Actually, I got two. _

_How did you get them? _

_I don't remember. _

_It looks an awful lot like a knife wound. _

_Objection! The lawyer is making assumptions without the witness's consent. _

_Try to be more careful, in the future. Ms. Reisert, take your time, please. We have all day. _

_Thank you. May I take a break? _

_Court is adjourned for the next hour. We'll reconvene at 3:30. _

"Ms. Reisert?" a man with a gentle voice said, breaking her out of her reverie of pain. "We're ready to reconvene. Hey, you gonna be all right?"

She tried to pull herself together, she really did. Lisa stopped crying and felt the numbness. Not being in pain made her feel better. She appreciated her body's futile efforts to build up a defense mechanism. "Yes," she lied again.

She listened to them drone on about murders and conspiracies and terrorist organizations and the death penalty, but nothing made any sense except for one fact-- Jackson was dead and the others were all about to die.

A large group escorted her out of the court building and Lisa didn't register anything. Someone shoved a microphone in her face and she couldn't be positive but she thought a perky blonde woman called her "A hero."

Cynthia drove them home. NPR was blaring from the car. Not only had her father borrowed her car again, but evidently the man was going deaf. It was becoming harder and harder for him to hear. "... and the men who took over the hotel just over a month ago are now in prison. Chances are, they'll face the death penalty. And now, more information on the hero of the story, Lisa Reisert. Lisa was born in San Antonio, Texas and later moved to Miami--"

Lisa wasn't sure what was coming out of her body, but it sounded like a laugh. Almost felt like one, too. "I wasn't born in Texas."

Cynthia grinned. "I seem to remember you telling me you were born in Miami."

"I've never moved anywhere in my life. Turn it off."

Her friend turned the radio off. "Well, Ms. Hero, if you're not careful you'll be joining the ranks of Harry Potter any day now."

"Remember when Rebecca hit him on the head with that really thick book?" Lisa said, allowing herself to chortle just a little.

"I think it stunned him a little."

"And you dumped water over his head and hit him with the glass vase."

"Shut up."

"You killed that batch of roses. Tom Schill bought 99 cent roses and you _killed_ them."

Both of them giggled. "I did what I could."

There was an abrupt silence as Cynthia steered the car to Lisa's block. Her apartment loomed, ominous and still. A tree seemed to bow in the wind; it felt like a storm was coming.

"All right, missy. Here we are," Cynthia said, in an effort to keep her tone light. She turned off the ignition and both took the minute to catch their breaths.

_I told you you shouldn't have offered to do this. You won't like it. You might say I was bullied into it, but you know what happened? I fell in love with you after the flight, Lisa. Isn't that weird? _

The wind made a grinding noise against the car, as if groaning from the sudden memory.

"Let's go," Lisa said, trying to ignore the fact that every hair was standing on end. Cynthia let her run to the door and open it with trembling fingers. Part of it was the threat of a nasty storm looming; part of it was her fear of parking lots. They didn't stop to chat until Lisa fell into her armchair and kicked off her shoes. "I remember what happened now. In the office."

Cynthia busied herself, making a cup of tea. All Lisa had left was Irish Herb Tea and one package of Apple Cinnamon. She decided the apple cinnamon would smooth her, and besides it smelled better than the herb tea. "It's okay. You don't need to talk about it if you don't want to."

"I feel bad. I could have offered a better testimony if I'd remembered it earlier."

"You gave ten men life in jail, Lisa. Most of them will probably face the death penalty. You did what you could."

"It wasn't good enough."

"Shut up. You're tired. You're under a lot of stress right now." Cynthia waited for the water to warm and, at the helpful _ding_ of the microwave, stuck the apple cinnamon tea bag into the water. Particles of tea mix escaped from the large bag and mixed around, making the water a murky reddish color.

The phone interrupted them, abrasively making itself known. Cynthia checked the caller I.D. "Your dad. Want to talk to him?"

Lisa nodded, not wanting to talk to _anyone_ at the moment. Her father went on about her next meeting with the psychiatrist, how she was feeling, but she hardly registered anything, not even when Cynthia pressed the warm cup into her hands.

Cynthia turned on the Weather Channel, on mute, because Lisa couldn't bear to listen to smooth jazz of any kind. An advertisement for finding a Thanksgiving turkey came on and then they did the local forecast. They were under a severe thunderstorm warning for a few hours. Cynthia didn't dare leave Lisa all alone as the first rumbles were heard overhead.

Father and daughter hung up and Lisa held on to the phone as if it was her life support. With finality, she hung up the phone with a loud thud. The phone responded with a loud clang. "I hate phones," she said, hoping she didn't look and sound insane.

"We'll get better," Cynthia said, plopping down on the chair across from Lisa. She groaned. It had been a long day and her feet hurt. She felt her muscles relaxing. "It's hard now but we'll get better. That's the power of... I don't know. The power of healing. And I'm here to help, at least until... until--" and at this, she broke down. She couldn't bear to think her best friend in Miami would be moving away with a new name and address and would have to reestablish herself, all over again. Something about this seemed unfair.

The storm was about to let out its fury and the two women watched something mindless on T.V. Some sitcom, where the four main characters were bickering about who was supposed to take out the trash. Lisa even laughed when one of the characters fell into the trash can and screamed, legs kicking.

Next was a zombie movie, but it ended up being too scary and so they changed the channel again. Lisa fell asleep during a commercial break, right before the G.A.P. advertised with all their pastel colors to have happy holidays.

Cynthia let herself out quietly. Lisa snored from behind her as the rain stopped coming down. It would be a long year or so. Lisa was damaged and probably would be for a long time.

But they would get through it. This she knew for sure.


End file.
